Alive
by Aviantei
Summary: Kirsten Tailor, set up for life and bored out of her mind, is willing to commit breaking and entering for a bit of excitement. Alexander "Cunningham" Hume, rich and famous and similarly bored, is willing to let it slide on a whim. When the world looks like nothing but grays, what do you need to do to see life in color? [CunninghamxOC]
1. 0 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

 _0 mph_

* * *

I walk down the street, bag of groceries hanging off my arm. The handle is digging into the crook of my arm, but I don't care. It's not going to kill me, and is only mildly annoying. Even if it ends up cutting off my circulation, there's no point in moving it, considering my apartment's only a few blocks away.

It's not like I don't feel numb most of the time anyway.

Somewhere along the line, I ended up hitting a slump. It hasn't gone away. I knew I would probably end up hitting this sort of thing at some point, but it came way sooner than I expected. I was ready for this to happen when I finally make my way to being in my thirties, forties even. Instead, I'm stuck not even halfway through my twenties with enough money to live on for the rest of my life, and I'm bored out of my mind.

No, more than out of my mind. I'm so bored that I think it's killing me. I don't know too much about psychology, but I think that's something that can happen. If a person gives up, it will affect them enough that they'll shorten their lifespan. But even devastating boredom like this would take far too long to deteriorate my wellbeing at this stage in my life.

I come to a stop at a crosswalk, just like everybody else. I sigh. Traffic is slow, but it's still there. Any other day, I would just go for it and run across, whatever cars are coming be damned, forget the safety of my groceries. Today, I just can't manage it—the energy, the desire.

I'm not quite domestic yet, but I sure as hell feel like it.

" _And it's a big day coming up for IGPX tomorrow. Last year's champions, Team Satomi, race against their predecessors, Team Velshtein. We're not even halfway through this year's IG-1 season, but let me tell you, the excitement and tension is just about as high as it would be for the finals! Who's going to win is anyone's guess, but I can tell you for sure—neither of these teams will be backing down in the slightest. I can hardly wait!"_

The announcer on the TV is as loud as ever, but I've gotten used to it. I first came to IGPX City thinking that maybe I could become a pilot. But I ended up realizing how much training it would take to even get a license, plus I would have to work with a team to get anywhere near real competitive racing. I knew I would get bored before then. So I gave up.

Not that being in a cockpit and going over four-hundred miles per hour didn't sound _amazing_ …

When it came to the pilots, I kind of envy them. But at the same time, it isn't a realistic move for me. I couldn't really do anything, though. That was the conclusion I came to, and I haven't found anything to change my mind ever since.

But what if this is my last chance?

There's no way I could live an honest lifestyle. I don't need to, either. I had gotten lucky, taken some big risks, and come out with plenty of money. No need to work. The funding to do almost anything I want. Enough common sense to not risk that. But if I just went and bought groceries every day, nothing else, hoping that maybe I could make something to pick me up—well, I need to take a risk then.

The crosswalk signal changes. People walk forward. I don't. On the TV, the announcer's still discussing the upcoming race and the possible outcomes. Footage from what I assume is last year's season plays with his commentary. I block him out, imagining what it would be like to be the pilot, to be control of something that powerful and dangerous.

At this point, I need to make up my mind of what to do next in my life, and I do.

I've got to get myself into one of those mechs. And it doesn't matter how.

The crosswalk signal switches to red, and I run for it, nearly knocking over other pedestrians all the way home.

* * *

A little over a year ago, I decided that I wanted to rewatch _IGPX_ , and had a blast with it. Shortly after thanks to my creative writing class at the time, I did some character building exercises and Kirsten was born. I don't think that this story will be very long, and it will be my last new project (save for _Stronger Than Fire_ and SOSS) until I actually start finishing up some of these other stories.

The chapters will also be a bit shorter on this one due to the pacing. I'm going to aim for roughly two-thousand words per update.

I'll also be spending tomorrow working on a proper cover image for the story.

Shameless Advertising: If you're interested in checking out some of my original work, I've recently started a to show it off.

The next chapter of this story should be up in October!

* * *

Promo:

 _It's not my first time pulling a stunt like this, but it's been a while. I experienced most of the dangers and damages aside from death, so I won't complain if I miss. Of course, I'd prefer that I don't get hurt, since that's asking for me to get caught, but what happens is gonna happen. Once I get close enough, I grab onto the railing and fling myself overboard._

[POST] 092315


	2. 1 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

 _1 mph_

* * *

It's not my first time at the IGPX track—I once went hoping that watching the racing would be enough of an excitement. It wasn't, even though I went at what was supposed to be "the most anticipated race of the season!" After that, I only went a few other times, trying out stuff like pickpocketing. Turns out that sort of stuff isn't fun unless you get noticed, and even then a chase and escape is dull. Besides, petty theft is nothing, and doesn't even bring a good yield.

The risk/return ratio is all wrong.

This time, though, I have a different game plan. I don't know if it will work or be possible, but I figure it's better than nothing. The worse that could happen is that I'd get arrested for trespassing, and I can take a few days in jail. I can pay the bail easy. And if this doesn't work, well, I'm not going to have much else I can care about anyway.

Getting into the stadium is the easy part. I pay my ticket just like anyone else, then promptly forget about trying to find a seat. I didn't come here to _watch_ a race—I came to experience it. It's an hour and a half before the race bothers to start, but there's still a lot of foot traffic. It's enough of a crowd to cover my actions without hindering them. I find the bathroom and tap my foot until I can get a stall.

I wanted to avoid bringing a bag at all costs, but there just wasn't enough time to be able to memorize the map I need. A few contacts of mine were kind enough to give me copies of the stadium's schematics—from maps to how to get through the security systems in the mech hangers. I take a seat, open up the duffel bag, and grab the new tablet I bought this morning. It has enough of a security setting that I can wipe it of any evidence if necessary, but the less evidence that can connect to exactly me, the better.

I pull up the schematics, blocking out the chatter as the women in line make small talk. I at least organized the data enough that I could navigate it easy, and soon I've found my current location. A few clicks later, and the navigation system another contact of mine built up highlights the best entrance to get from the stadium seats to the team hangers on this floor. There are even ticks where vital security checkpoints are.

Committing the route to memory as best as I can, I repack my bag, flush the toilet, then exit, making a stop by the sink before I move on. There's a stairwell that leads up to some of the higher seats, which are meant to give a better view. They're probably packed, 'cause the stairs have people coming down them, looking disappointed. I head up anyway.

"Good luck, Lady," a man says to me, sarcasm biting into his words. "You ain't gonna find a seat up there."

Au contraire. It's a bit of a roundabout way, but this is gonna get me the best seat in the house. I put on my best smile. "I had a friend go up earlier. She's saving me a seat," I lie. The man scowls, then continues down the stairs. I take two steps at a time on the way up to avoid dealing with any more interference.

Once I get into the crowd, I make sure I look casual. The stands look like they're overflowing, and there's more than a few security workers running around, looking ready to pounce. I bet that big events like this spawn plenty of trouble. By the time I make it to the opposite side, there's a shouting argument over seats close to the bottom, loud enough to be heard over the crowd's chatter. The security guard patrolling the side goes to take care of it, and I rush down the stairs, close to the wall.

There's a door there. It doesn't lead directly to security, but it does connect to the main complex. It was installed so that guards didn't have to walk around entire buildings to get to areas where they're needed. There's usually a guard posted in front of it, but they're pulled pretty thin. I look over the crowd, where most people's attention is pulled to someone loudly telling off the guard. I don't bother to wish for any sort of luck and try the knob.

It opens and I manage to make it inside.

Shutting the door manages to make everything quiet. The sound of the crowd disappears, and the utter silence almost makes my ears ring. I'm going to have to be careful to not make enough noise to be heard. At least I get the advantage of being able to hear anyone else getting closer.

This building is designed to hold a lot more than audience members and bathrooms. A walk down a hallway and I find a couch against a wall. Taking a break, I sit down and pull the tablet back out, and relocate myself on the map. Once I figure out the best route to go, I find the fake ID badge and drop its lanyard around my neck. It even has enough override to get me through any security checks, so I need it ready and at hand.

I think I could have bought an arm and a leg for less than what it cost for me to get it made in less than twenty-four hours, but this is an once-in-a-lifetime opportunity kind of deal, so I'm not cutting any corners.

I get moving, not wanting to stay in one place for too long. I only have to check my maps a few more times before I get close to the docking areas. Once I'm there, I wipe the tablet's data and dump it the closest men's bathroom trashcan. None of the bathrooms have cameras in this place, so I've left as little of a trail as possible.

I did a little flash research beforehand, to figure out which team to deal with. I ended up with a lot of unnecessary information about Team Velshtein and Team Satomi. But I did end up knowing that Velshtein has way more established pre-race routines. Right about now, the pilots are talking with their manager and the mechanics have already done preliminary checks. Their hanger is pretty much deserted for the next twenty minutes.

Plenty of time.

I get to the entrance and swipe my security card. The door opens, and I slip inside. Ideally, I would have hired someone else to hack the security cameras into a loop, but by the time I got my other supplies, I just couldn't handle it. I settled for a cheap baseball cap pulled to hide most of my face and my hair tucked underneath. The fact that only half of my head is buzzed down, with the rest in a giant ponytail tends to be a distinguishable trait and makes it even more necessary.

It doesn't take much to find the racing mechs. They're giant. The track is at a distance when you're in the stands, and the TV scales in camera angles that make you forget the size. I stand next to one, my head only staring at the lower leg. Looking up is even more disorienting. I have to resist the urge to touch it so I don't leave any fingerprints.

It's unreal.

I step back to look the whole area over. I'm sure there's some mechanism that the pilots use to get loaded into their mechs, but it's probably hard to activate without alerting anyone. The only helpful thing right now is that mech in the center has its hatch open, plus there's a platform that oversees the area. I can't tell the exact distance between them, but it's the best shot I've got.

I find a set of stairs on the side of the room, and I run up them. Now that I'm closer, there's probably about ten feet at most between the platform and the mech. I have an advantage in height, too. I stretch out my legs as quick as I can, take a deep breath, and break out into a run.

It's not my first time pulling a stunt like this, but it's been a while. I experienced most of the dangers and damages aside from death, so I won't complain if I miss. Of course, I'd prefer that I don't get hurt, since that's asking for me to get caught, but what happens is gonna happen. Once I get close enough, I grab onto the railing and fling myself overboard.

While the fact that the cockpit's open is a stroke of luck, I'm not so lucky to have it facing open in my direction. My face almost smacks into the open door, but I manage to grip onto the edges and contours, laughing through shaky breaths. I'm able to keep holding on since I tossed on a pair of fingerless sports gloves before I left, but they can only give me so much traction, and I start to slip right away. I switch my grip and try to swing around the side of the door, my foot hitting against the mech's shoulder before I land in the seat of the cockpit backwards.

The mech is big and steady enough that it doesn't even shake, but I do. I've been stuck for the longest time, without anything to help. And while a little stunt like that isn't enough to pick me up all the way, it's better than nothing. My laughing only gets louder the more I get my breath back, and I have to remind myself that making noise isn't really a good thing at the moment.

Still shaking a bit, I stand up. Adrenaline leads a smile onto my face. Once I'm facing the right way, I can see the entire hanger. I take a deep breath, letting it sink in. It's nothing like going rock climbing, but the sense of height is still enough to feel powerful. Giving my legs a break, I drop down into the pilot seat.

I'm not stupid enough to think that I can pilot a mech with no experience. I don't know how to start it up, either. Still, I put my hands on the controls and close my eyes. Just thinking of what it would be like to go that fast lets me feel excited. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, being an IGPX pilot, no matter what league I'd be in. It might take me some time, but it's really the only lead I have. The real pain would be finding teammates, but I guess I don't have to get along with them. They would just need to fill seats and be good enough to stay in the competition.

I exhale. I don't have the best internal clock, but I can tell it's about time for me. Better to get out early then wait 'til the last minute and get caught. I stand up just in time to see the entrance open up, and duck back behind the mech's console. I can't be seen, but it's not worth anything. Soon enough, someone's gonna find me, and I'm going to be in deep trouble.

I take a chance and peak over the edge. A clock on the wall lets me know I should still be in the clear. Of course. An unscheduled event. Just perfect. Trying to keep calm, I look around the room for an opening. I can't explain why I'm in the mech, but at least I have the security credentials to pull off a decent excuse for why I'm the room. I just need to get down while the person in the room isn't looking.

"Hey, you!"

And before I can even finish thinking that this can't possibly get any worse, I'm proven wrong. Because the person glaring up at me is Cunningham Hume, IGPX superstar, and he's probably one of the few people in IGPX City with more money than I do, which means I can't pay my way out of this situation.

Just what I fucking needed.

* * *

Alright, I'll just be dropping this off. As you can guess, the chapters on this are going to be shorter than the usual standard. All in all, I think this story should actually be kind of short. Here's hoping I don't drag it on too long.

One of the challenges with first person is keeping a character without sounding too pretentious. Kirsten has a lot goin' on that I like, but her attitude feels a bit problematic to me as a creator. Hopefully she's an interesting read, at least.

I don't have a set date yet for the next chapter. If you got some time, go and check out my campaign for all my writing and story related projects.

* * *

Promo:

 _I should feel lost, have no hope, know I'm out of my league, ready to surrender, and disappointed in my failure all at once. But I don't._

 _Because this stupid situation is enough to make me feel excited._

[POST] 102115


	3. 2 mph

**Alive**

By: Aviantei

 _2 mph_

* * *

Cunningham stands in the middle of the room, already dressed in his mech suit. The vibrant red stands out amongst the pale architecture of the hangar. His posture is sturdy and tensed to fight. The air conditioner thrums around us as I try to figure out which move to take next.

I have my credentials, which means a number of excuses could do. I could always take the apologetic employee route: "Oh, Mr. Cunningham, I'm sor—" _Gross, fuck that._ I may have done plenty of questionable things to get here, but I haven't hurt anyone or sabotaged anything. I'm not afraid, so I don't need to act like it.

 _He can hire a better lawyer than me if he has to,_ I remind myself. The height factor keeps me from reading Cunningham's face, but that means he can't see my grimace, either.

"Wanna explain to me what the hell you're doing in my mech?" the racer shouts up at me, all of his displeasure packed into the words. Of course I picked his mech. Why not? "You have about five minutes to talk before I call security."

The warning doesn't carry the same bite. It's not his first time facing down someone where they don't belong. I'm just a hassle in his own routines. If I'm reading his voice correctly (and I know I am, because I know those feelings in distinct clarity), then he's—

"Bored much?" I call back down, adjusting my stance so I can lean on the edge of the cockpit. I'll play the sassy part; how often do you get to have a throw down with a celebrity anyway? "Listen, I'm just here to have a private tour, okay? Get me down from here and I'll get out of your hair. No need to call your buddies." Cunningham seems to contemplate the words, and I use the opportunity to think back on the guards I saw before. I've dabbled in enough mixed martial arts that I could take down three or four with surprise, but not much more than that.

 _I've been in the hospital enough times. Think of a different plan._

"Fine," Cunningham relents, and I can't figure out enough from the single word. "Stay put until I say so. One wrong move and you'll get a private tour of a police cruiser." As if I haven't seen that outcome before, either. If the evening ends up being a bust after this, I'll be pissed. Cunningham crosses to a console on the east side of the room, keeping his eyes on me like I could even run away in my position. "How'd you get up there anyway?" He doesn't project his voice on that one, but the lack of other sound makes it easy to hear.

I put my smirk into my response: "Ever hear of parkour?" Cunningham pauses before the computer layout, his head twisting to look to the railings. I flash him a thumbs up of confirmation.

Cunningham's sigh echoes up to my spot in the cockpit. He turns to the keyboard before him, manipulating commands on the console. I wish I could see from up here. There's a whir as machinery comes to life, a lift mechanism from the side of the room extending out. The platform comes to a rest in front of me, a small gate visible in the railing. I could reach the handle if I extended my arm to half length.

"You planning on taking up my seat all night?" Cunningham demands.

"You're the one who said not to move," I call back. Not waiting for a response, I stand up in said pilot's seat, check my distance and jump, catching onto the platform's support railing and hauling myself over the edge. The mech behind me still doesn't budge.

I take a few breaths to catch up my oxygen intake. Even though I'm not in the mech anymore, the faint buzz of excitement sticks in my chest.

Without warning, the platform moves. It's not jerky enough to make me lose balance as Cunningham maneuvers me to the ground. Still not in the mood to toy around with security, I play the good girl and fold my hands behind my back.

Cunningham's suit thumps like armor as he crosses the floor to me. He's without helmet, meaning it's still not time for him to go. "Special warm up time?" I ask, half to stall time, half from curiosity. Not that I need money, but I could earn a few favors from my informant buddies if I scrounge up fresh information on Cunningham Hume. "Didn't mean to interrupt, you know. _I_ thought the hangar was supposed to be empty at this time."

"Do you even care how suspicious you sound?" Cunningham's dry remark gives me no pause.

"You already think I'm suspicious. What's acting otherwise gonna help?" Now at a closer distance, I can make out the sharp angle of his jawline holding up the otherwise youthful features of his face. Dark hair is styled upwards, just like all his publicity photos. He seems like a straight laced guy. Bribes won't work. "Listen, whatever you're gonna do to me, just get it over with. I'd rather not waste a lot of time on formalities. I'll even go to the police. Just say the word and I'm out of your hair."

At this point, my best hope is to get the arrest over with fast. Pleading guilty should keep Cunningham from wanting to do anything too drastic. Who wants the hassle of a lawsuit anyway? _I certainly don't._

I wait for him to make a call, trigger a security feature, anything. Instead, Cunningham opens the gate on the other side of the platform and steps up to me. He's got the height, and I know being a pilot involves at least some level of physical prowess. I can't size up his body shape through his bulky mech suit, but trying to take him on in a fight screams of a bad idea.

Cunningham reaches his hand out and catches the lanyard from around my neck. He raises my ID to his eye level without taking it off. There's less than a foot between us. "Kirsten Tailor," he reads. A few more moments pass as he looks over both sides of the ID and then drops it. The flimsy card bounces in dissonance with the percussion inside my ribcage. "You do know that building employees can get a tour of the building when they start, right?"

In other words, it's something I _should_ know. Well, it's not like I'm attached to my cover or anything. Still, I keep up the vague responses. "Employee tours can't show me what I want to see." Cunningham hasn't stepped back. I don't know if I'm fast enough to slip away without him catching me. It's almost exciting, not knowing how this is gonna play out.

 _Almost._

"You mean the inside of my cockpit," Cunningham deadpans at me.

I beam at him, in hopes it'll catch him off guard. "It didn't _have_ to be yours." Like hell I'm gonna get pegged as some crazy fan of his. "Yours was just the easiest to get into."

Cunningham looks back at the line of mechs, all bright and imposing. I lean my head back in an attempt to see them, too. Unlike some other teams, the Velshtein mechs have very few distinguishing features. Cunningham's, parked in the middle, just happened to have the best run-up time for me to launch myself into.

The man sighs again, and I toss a glare up at him. "Alright, I'm stumped," he admits. "You work here, but you do stupid stuff like this?" I hold my tongue. Let him think what he wants. Cunningham presses a hand to his temple. "Whatever. The rest of the team's going to be here in ten minutes to get set up started. If you wanna check out the mechs, set it up with the staff. I have a race to do."

He turns his back on me—a stupid move really—but I don't take the chance to bolt. That would be too suspicious. Cunningham clunks his way off the platform and walks up to the side of his mech. Right, he showed up off schedule because of a pre-race ritual. One I'm interrupting.

I _should_ walk off. That would make the most sense in this situation. But I caught something: the first undercurrent of excitement in his voice at the mention of the race. Breaking and entering is nothing to him in comparison to hitting the track. But on the other hand, that means _hitting the track is the only thing that matters to him._

Everything is gray. Such a mundane perception pisses me off. One of the biggest superstars in IGPX history, and he's not even satisfied with it. He didn't even smile when he mentioned the race. Sure, that might be because I'm a nuisance to him, but I'd expect at least some enthusiasm for something he should be all means enjoy.

I spin around, the metal clanging as my boot stomps down on it. Even though my gloves, I can feel my nails bite into my palms. Cunningham looks up at me, his palm still splayed out on the leg of his mech.

"If it's not even special to you, why do you bother?" I demand.

Cunningham frowns. "If you don't leave Sir Hamgra won't be as nice as I was."

I snort. Like I care about some team manager. "You don't care about any of that," I continue. "You don't even bother to care about me messing around in your shit." I stride forward and push open the gate closer to him. Cunningham turns to face me again, his expression unsettled. "You can't seriously tell me you're having fun with any of this. Just how _bored_ do you have to be with everything to think life's not even worth your attention?"

I know the answer to that, because that's how bored _I_ am. But I, at least, have an excuse. Not him, not someone who gets to sit in the peak of adrenaline. If he's going to treat _that_ like it's nothing, then I'm not going to let it slide.

"Your point being?" His deep voice wavers just a bit, leaving a curl of satisfaction in my stomach.

I hold up my badge between two fingers. "This is fake," I say, as plain as blank paper. "I went to the trouble to get it because I'm a thrill seeker. _That's_ why I would do 'stupid stuff like this,' thank you very much." Cunningham looks like he can't decide whether to yell at me or just look stupefied. The latter wins. "So tell you what. You let me walk out of here without any trouble, and in return I'll show you some of the more exciting things in life. I won't even break into your precious little hangar again."

This is where it gets tricky. I've left enough distance between us that I have a head start on the door. At the very least, I can use parkour if I have to. There's no way he has enough mobility for that sort of stuff in his mech suit. Of course, my contact was fucking with me when she put my real name on the ID, but I have a few old friends who owe me some favors if necessary…

"Are you messing with me?" Cunningham asks, his look more cutting than the edge of a blade.

I skip backwards a few steps, avoiding the platform behind me. I've pushed the time limit too far on this one. "Half the fun of life is taking chances, Cunningham," I taunt still backing up towards the door. "You can either do the rational thing and call security on me, or you can indulge a bit and see what fun I can get you into." I grin, making sure to show off as many of my teeth as possible. "But if you ask me, I think the time for rationality has long passed."

I'm far enough across the room I have to project my voice to reach him. I can't read his expression anymore, either. But I do manage to catch his startled shout as I press the trigger to open the door and slip back out into the hallway.

* * *

 **[Author's Notes]**

Goodness gracious, it's been some time, hasn't it? Much apologies, I ended up doing the stupid thing and started way too many projects and ended up way over my head. If we want to get technical, I'm still over my head, but I'm working on fixing it. So, after way too fucking long, here we have the next chapter of _Alive!_

Before I get into spilling out excuses on why the heck this is so late, I must first thank kimikokimono, ZabuzasGirl, and ThayetRosethorn for the favorites, follows, and reviews left on this story. Considering it only had a prologue and a first chapter, that's a pretty solid response. Hopefully all of your enthusiasm for this idea hasn't faded!

The good news is that I don't just have one chapter for you all, but several lined up, and they will be updating on a weekly basis until I run through the queue. I truly love this story and where it's going, so I hope that love came through in my writing and makes its way to you. I haven't quite reached the end of the plot in those updates (I've been scrambling to produce content for my other eighteen fics), but it should be enough to keep this story from dying an awful death it doesn't deserve.

If you wanna keep an eye on what I'm actively writing, my Twitter **Plot_K_Bunny** has daily updates on what I'm drafting and other announcements, so do check that out for news. And either way, I'll see you next week for chapter three. Please look forward to it!

-Avi

[03.12.2018]


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